I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.
“If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.”
“I am going to keep on defying you. I am going to shame you with my defiance. You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing. You may win in the end, you may ensorcell me and hurt me and humiliate me, but I will make sure you lose everything I can take from you on the way down. I promise you this is the least of what I can do.”
What could I become if I stopped worrying about death, about pain, about anything ? If I stopped trying to belong ?
Instead of being afraid, I could become something to fear.
If I cannot be better than them, I will become so much worse.
She’s looking around the forest, as though if she can prove it isn’t magic, then nothing else is, either. Which is stupid. All forests are magic.
No matter how careful I am, eventually I'll make another misstep. I am weak. I am fragile. I am mortal.
I hate that most of all.
Even if, by some miracle, I could be better than them, I will never be one of them.
I don't desire to do as well in the tournament as one of the fey. I want to win. I do not yearn to be their equal.
In my heart, I yearn to best them.
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